


One Last Night

by annieoakley1



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:30:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annieoakley1/pseuds/annieoakley1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We walk down the hallway. Peeta wants to stop by his room to shower off the makeup and meet me in a few minutes, but I won’t let him. I’m certain that if a door shuts between us, it will lock and I’ll have to spend the night without him.  Besides, I have a shower in my room. I refuse to let go of his hand.”</p>
<p>-Catching Fire, p. 260</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Last Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for PiP's Round 3, Day 5 Challenge, inspired by visual #3, couple in shower.

He gives her a small, pained smile, then reluctantly pulls his hand out of hers to head to the bathroom.  “I’ll be right back,” he promises before pulling the door behind him.  He doesn’t lock it or even shut it, and she wonders if he has the same worry that she did.

She sits on the edge of the bed, her nails digging into the covers, and stares off into space.  The voice in her head is screaming, reminding her that this is the very last time she and Peeta will ever be alone.  But she pushes those thoughts away; the realization is far too painful to deal with now.

She can hear the water running now, and her eyes catch on the bright fluorescent light from the vanity as it streams through the small opening from the door.   Peeta is moving around the bathroom, loudly, and she imagines he’s shedding his clothes before he steps into the shower. 

She looks down at her own dress, and suddenly she doesn’t want to be a mockingjay anymore.  She doesn’t want to be anyone but herself in the precious few moments she has left to do so.

Katniss crosses the room quickly, reaching for the zipper of her gown, unsuccessfully trying to rid it from her body.  Finally her fingers catch on the hidden metal closure, and she tugs it down.  The dress falls to the floor, pooling at her feet, and she steps out of it and heads to the bathroom.

Thick steam envelops her as soon as she enters, and she begins pulling at the pins and wayward feathers in her hair.  Taking a deep, calming breath, she slowly strips out of her silk undergarments and then kicks them toward the other pile of clothes on the floor.  She realizes that it’s Peeta’s tuxedo, gloves and shorts, and she looks over at the shower door where she can make out his silhouette behind the fogged up glass.  She grips the handle, decided.

Peeta does not have a hunter’s grace or ear, so he doesn’t hear her as she steps into the shower.  Hot water is spraying from about twenty different directions in this fancy Capitol contraption, but she ignores it as it soaks her bare body.  She’s too busy staring at Peeta’s beautiful, naked form to care much about anything else.

The abundance of food and months of intense training in preparation for the Games has served Peeta well; now he looks as strong as she knows he is, and it’s hard to reconcile his current appearance with that of the thin, near-death boy he was back in the cave one year ago.

Rivulets of water race down his muscular back as it flexes with the movements he makes to wash.  He scrubs at his face, then runs his hands up through his thick hair.  She licks the corner of her mouth, the tip of her tongue catching a drop of water as she does it.

He doesn’t smell of roses now; no, it’s more of a musk with a hint of sandalwood, and while she prefers his own scent of spices and sweetness, she’s glad it at least doesn’t remind her of Snow.  The soapy bubbles mix with the water as they glide down his body, but Katniss hasn’t allowed her eyes to dip below his waist.  Instead, she focuses on his shoulders and arms as he lifts them to thoroughly wash his saturated curls.

“Peeta,” she says, calling out loud enough to be heard over the sound of multiple showerheads on full blast.

He freezes, his arms dropping to his sides as he slowly pivots on the heel of his foot.  He stares at her with wide, shocked eyes, which then drift down from her face to her body.  She swallows past the thick lump in her throat as he stares at her, unabashed.

She doesn’t know what to do when he looks at her this way, like she’s his whole world and he can’t quite believe she’s there.  His eyes roam over her small breasts, then travel further before settling on the small thatch of hair between her legs.  She can’t watch him watching her anymore, so she turns and diverts her attention on the inside wall of the shower, with  the large touch screen featuring the numerous settings.

“What are you doing?” he finally asks, though not unkindly.  She shakes her head, because for the life of her, she can’t remember what compelled her to join him. 

 

Katniss has never thought much about what she wants.  Others’  _needs_ , and then her needs, were always paramount.  But now, she realizes that she wants to  _see_ him, and with such little time left in her life, she does something she’s never done before and gives in to desire.  She slowly looks back in his direction, but she can’t bring herself to look at his face just yet.  So she focuses on his feet first: one real, one prosthetic.  Her eyes travel higher, past where the metal meets flesh on one half of his body.  His thighs are thick and muscular, much like the rest of him. 

Then her eyes finally find the one area of his body she’d been so careful to ignore.  He’s erect, and even though she understands enough about the human body and his feelings for her to not be surprised by this, she finds she still is.  It’s bigger than she imagined, though that probably has a lot to do with him being hard.  Or maybe not, but how is she to know when all she has to compare him to are the flaccid penises of dying coal miners spread out on her mother’s kitchen table.

She looks back up at him, and he dips his head under one of the water jets to rinse the suds from his hair.  Then he brushes the wet strands off of his forehead, and she knows she’s gawking but she can’t find the will to care.   “You can touch me,” he says somewhat nervously, and she wants to.  She wants to so much, but she can’t help but hesitate.

“Do you want to touch me first?” she asks.  He nods eagerly, then reaches out to cup one of her breasts, and she’s taken aback for just a moment because she was sure his hand would wander lower first.

He palms her experimentally, but he remains gentle.  She watches his splayed fingers with curiosity, amazed at how completely his hand covers her.  Then he moves his thumb to brush over her nipple, and her eyes fall shut as she allows herself to enjoy the sensation.

“Please touch me,” he asks desperately.

She reaches out to wrap her hand around his length, and he moans softly at the contact as his body shivers.  But she’s fumbling awkwardly, not sure how he wants to be handled.  “Is this okay?” she asks. 

“Yes,” he gasps.  “Just…move your hand.”

She steps closer to him as she slowly pumps her hand, and his mouth falls open when her stomach brushes his hip.  “Kiss me,” she commands, and his lips roughly find hers with next to no grace. 

He finally moves his hand off of her breast, and he wraps one arm around her as the other moves down to hitch her leg up around his waist.  “Oh,” she moans, pulling her hand out from between their bodies so she can wind her arms around his neck.  He thrusts lightly, rocking back and forth between her legs, against her, not inside of her. But as her fingers find his wet hair and her nails dig into his scalp, she realizes that she  _wants_  that.  She wants to be joined with him, to feel him moving within her. 

She’s going to tell him that he can have her that way, but then he’s crying out her name, and she can feel it as he comes, his entire body shaking lightly.  Then he kisses her again, panting against her open mouth.  “Katniss,” he says. 

“I know.”

They wash and dry quickly, and he’s acting very shy, so she takes his hand and squeezes it.  “Thank you,” she tells him, and he stares back at her in surprise. 

“ _You’re_  thanking  _me_?”

“Come on,” she says with a light laugh.  She leads him to the bed, and she changes into a clean nightgown and he puts back on his shorts, and then they both climb under the covers.

_Do we sleep? I don’t know. We spend the night holding each other, in some halfway land between dreams and waking. Not talking.  Both afraid to disturb the other in the hope that we’ll be able to store up a few precious minutes of rest.  Cinna and Portia arrive with the dawn, and I know Peeta will have to go.  Tributes enter the arena alone. He gives me a light kiss. “See you soon,” he says._


End file.
